


Dance With me

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Female Reader, Gen, Language, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sensuality, all the feels writing challenge, allthefeelsWC, captialrogers, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: After spending all day on your feet, the last thing you wanted to do was attend one of your best friend’s parties. It was a good thing he didn’t take no for an answer.





	Dance With me

“You’re kidding, right?” you scoffed, glaring at Tony. 

He gave you one of his mega-watt smiles and clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Pick you up at eight.”

“Tony,” you whined as he started walking away. “I don’t wanna.”

“Eight o’clock,” he chuckled over his shoulder. “Not a minute later.”

“But, I’m tired.” The word stretched out annoyingly long, as if you were a child and Tony were a parent.

Before he disappeared into his apartment next door, Tony winked. “You have ninety minutes.” The door slammed just as your head fell back and a whine tumbled out. 

_ Son of a bitch. _

You had just wrapped up a day from hell at work - ten hours on your feet, two of which were overtime, doing your best not to fly into a rage in the faces of the customers - and the moment you were about to disappear into your apartment, Tony descended on you like a vulture. God, you hated your best friend sometimes. 

With an irritated growl, you stormed into your apartment where you kicked off your shoes, hissing at the way the tissue and muscle throbbed in the arches. One of these days, you were going to get a pair of shoes that made it feel like you were walking on cotton. Until then, standard sneakers had to do. 

Not caring where they landed, you ripped off your clothes as you crossed the living room and entered the bathroom. You glared at your reflection as you scrubbed your teeth; going to a party - whether you wanted to go or not - with stale coffee breath was not high on the list of things you wanted to be remembered for. 

After turning on the shower, you stepped under the steady stream and let out a heavy sigh. Who knew a hot shower could feel so damn good? Along with the release of tension in your neck, shoulders, and back, it was as if your sour mood pooled at your feet and swirled around the drain. You stood there much longer than normal, to the point where there was so much steam in the room, you could hardly see your hand in front of your face. 

You dried off and got dressed - dark skinny jeans, slightly sparkly shirt, and a pair of ridiculously comfortable leather boots. With a handful of minutes to spare, you ran your fingers through your almost-dried hair, and put on some mascara and lip gloss. 

Just as you grabbed your purse - making sure your keys and phone were tucked inside - Tony knocked on the door. “You better be ready,” he teased.

“After the day I’ve had,” you grumbled, opening the door, “this better be worth it.”

Tony winked and held out his arm for you to take. “Oh, it will be.”

The club was packed, but that was typical for Tony’s parties. He invited everyone he knew, even people he didn’t, telling them, “Drinks are on me. No limit.” 

“If you had told me it was going to be like this,” you growled into his ear.

“You never would have come,” he finished for you, amusement and liquor thickening his voice. 

Just as Tony’s undivided attention drifted to the bar, someone bumped into you and sent you pitching to the side. You expected to hit the ground, or smash into some other unlucky patrons, but the impact never came. A set of thick arms wound around your waist and held you tight. 

“I got’cha,” they gruffed, chest rumbling under your palm. 

Dark green eyes settled on yours once you finally opened them. “I uh, thanks for catching me.” 

When he smiled, wrinkles framed his eyes. “It’s the least I could do since I’m the reason you almost hit the floor.”

Despite the  _ thumping _ music, you laughed softly, and judging by the way his heart hammered under your palm, he heard it. You knew you should extricate yourself from his grip, but there was something comforting about the weight of his arms on your hips, and his hands on your back. 

“My God,” Tony cried out in concern. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m all good, Stark.”

The man whose arms you were still wrapped in cleared his throat. “Tony? Jesus, I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“It’s my party, Clint,” Tony laughed heartily. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

You rolled your eyes; of course they knew each other, and if he was anything like Tony - although lovable, he was obnoxious, cocky, overbearing - you needed to step away before you decked one of them.

After extricating yourself from Clint’s grip, you held out your hand and introduced yourself. “How do you know Tony?”

“Oh, we go way back,” Clint laughed, his thumb sweeping over the inside of your wrist before releasing your hand. “You?”

“Neighbors,” you answered. “We’ve shared the same bedroom wall for almost five years.”

Clint cringed in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience.”

“College roommates, all four years,” was his only explanation. 

Tony feigned offence by placing a hand on his chest. “I was the best roommate there ever was.” 

That made Clint laugh. Like,  _ really _ laugh. His head tipped back before he bent at the waist, hands on his thighs, shoulders shaking. You couldn’t stop from joining in, and less than thirty seconds later, Tony was laughing, too. 

“Thanks,” you said, wiping a tear from your face. “I needed that.”

“Bad day?” Clint lamented, holding up a hand to get the bartender’s attention. 

You ordered a drink before answering him. “I work in retail.”

At the mention of work, Tony pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured his departure. There was a certain leggy redhead that was demanding his attention.

Another cringe wrinkled Clint’s nose. “Yikes. That sounds... “

“Unpleasant?” you offered. “Frustrating, crazy, fun, infuriating. Yes. All of those things.”

Clint paid the bartender and clinked his bottle of beer against your glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you concurred and took a long drink, unable to take your eyes off of him.

When his lips were no longer wrapped around the bottle, he gave you a wicked smirk. “Dance with me.”

Your eyes went wide for a moment. “Wha- what?” For the first time since arriving, you paid attention to the song that was blasting from the speakers, and not just the beat you could feel in the floorboards, thrumming against your feet. 

“Dance with me,” he repeated, his voice dropping as he grabbed your hand and tugged on it gently. 

You could say no, and you had no doubt he wouldn’t push the issue, but you didn’t want to. You’d been pressed against his chest and had his arms around you once already, and you’d thoroughly enjoyed every second of it. 

With a nod, you followed him onto the dancefloor, through the throngs of people, until he turned around and curled an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. You set a hand on the back of his neck, the short hairs tickling your fingers and palm, and started swaying your body with his. 

Fueled by the ambience and pulsing music, it was only a matter of minutes before Clint gripped your ass with one hand and ground his hips into yours. A thrill ran through you, zipping up and down your spine before settling between your legs, which were straddling one of Clint’s thick thighs. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” Clint purred, his nose gliding down the column of your neck. 

Your back curved as your head fell back, moaning when his lips closed around your pulsepoint. “Trust me, I’m halfway there, myself.” 

“Only halfway?” he chuckled, low and gritty, his teeth scraping against your skin. 

You were about to sass him, but before you could, Clint dipped you. Your nails scraped along his scalp and neck, and you gripped his bicep tight to keep from falling, not that he would let you. There wasn’t an iota of space between you, so when he licked a stripe down your chest and you shuddered, you felt  _ every inch _ of his arousal as it twitched against your belly. 

As he stood, he pulled you with him, one of his hands tangling in your hair. “You want to get out of here?” he asked breathily, pupils blown, lips brushing against yours. 

“Not yet,” you murmured. 

Confusion flickered in his eyes in the split-second before you kissed him. With a heavy moan, Clint’s hand tangled in your hair as he dominated the kiss; slanting his mouth over yours and pushing his tongue between your lips. 

You were on your tiptoes, one arm around his neck, the other around his waist, hand on his ass. It didn’t phase you that you were in a public place, mainly because there were other couples doing exactly as you were, some taking it even farther. 

As if to prove a point that Tony’s parties always had a way of lowering people’s inhibitions, you found your back pressed against a wall and Clint’s rough hands were under your shirt, calluses scraping up and down your spine. 

Clint’s mouth went to your ear, where he tugged on the lobe with his teeth. “Your place or mine, sweetheart?”

An obscene moan spilled from your lips as lust surged through your veins. “Mine. I live just around the corner,” you panted, hips rocking rhythmically against his. 

The way he growled your name sent a shiver down your spine. “Lead the way.” 

You grabbed the hand he had on your ass, gave him a kiss that had him seeing stars, and did as he instructed.


End file.
